From the Gulf

  There are certain class distinctions living on Galveston Island, almost like a caste system.  People who call Galveston home are broken up into two specific groups that are identified through two acronyms—BOI or IBC.  Neither Adi nor I knew this until we began mentioning to people that we lived on the island.  Whenever me mentioned this we were met with the question: Are you BOI or IBC?  It didn’t take locals long to discover that we were definitely not BOI because we didn’t know what BOI meant.  Longtime residents quickly detected that we were indeed IBC because any BOI

Adventures have setbacks.  This is the essence of what makes them adventures.  Adi and I decided that we would rent a 4 X 8 U-Haul trailer to carry only our “essentials” to Galveston.  We are downsizing, we both agreed, and we want to become light and nimble in order to be able to get up and go on a moment’s notice.  Signed, sealed, delivered and written in ink—only our essentials, we reiterated to each other. We never truly know quite how much “stuff” we have accumulated in our life until we decide to uproot and transport these possessions to a

Listen on Spotify “Galveston is a writer’s town.”  I remember telling Adi this the first time we visited the island together.  Our first time to Galveston was incidentally my first time to visit the city.  Adi had lived a lifetime in Galveston; her family owns two homes on the island, and they celebrated holidays and summers there where they built memories long before I arrived in Adi’s life. I had no real idea what to expect the first time I came to the island.  I had heard people disparage the place by saying it was a “low rent beach” with